


Want me

by Ships_ahoy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Incest, M/M, Smut, Stridercest - Freeform, actually wheezing, ok, this is smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 12:11:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ships_ahoy/pseuds/Ships_ahoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bro picks Dave up from some shitty high school house party, he finds him more than a little bit wasted... and apparently more than a little bit horny too. Having a drunk, horny teenager in his car had never ended well in the past for Bro, but things seem to shift to a whole new level when the drunk horny teenager just so happens to be his younger brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is for my friend jess because i blocked her on skype and it broke her heart so i said i would fix it with stridercest. here you go, you massive cunt.

When you pull up to the house, the party is still in full swing, music blaring out the open front door and clusters of high school kids littering the front lawn and being too loud. You figure they have another half an hour before the neighbors in this uptown neighborhood grow tired of their shit and call the cops for underage drinking. Maybe Dave had been right to call you to pick him up now.

Actually, you were pretty glad Dave had come to this house party in the first place. He needed some time with people his own age, his friends and classmates; you fear he’d grown far too close to you the past few weeks. Far closer than any 17 year old should be to his older brother, to the point of being clingy, craving your attention, finding reasons not to go out but to stay in the apartment with you instead.

There was something not right about it, leaving you feeling uneasy in your stomach, confused when normally it would have been clear.

The clock on your dashboard hits 2:30 AM, and in a fit of impatience, you bring one gloved hand slamming down on the car horn. The loud noise has a group of teenage girls shrieking in surprise, jumping back away from your car and you fight back a smirk, eyes focusing in on a figure breaking free from the others, staggering your way.

When he climbs into the car, it doesn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to realise he was wasted, mumbling a slurred greeting in your direction as his fingers fumble and make failed attempts at grabbing for his seatbelt.

“Holy fuck, you’re sloshed.”

“What? No ‘m not…”

“You puke in my car and I swear I’ll make you clean it with a toothbrush.”

He sends you a half assed frown and you try to stop the amused laughter shaking you in your seat, fingers moving to roar the engine into life. He was seventeen and had just spent his night at some shitty high school house party; you had no problem with him being drunk. In fact, you’re pretty glad that you’d have some more mocking material to use at a later date.

Pulling away quickly, you side-eye him out the corner of your shades, watch him sway uneasily at every tiny turn you make, hand moving to push his shades up his nose. It takes him three attempts, fingers prodding at his forehead, nose and cheek before finally locating the troublesome shades. Fucking hilarious.

“You have a good time then? Are high school house parties still as unbelievably shitty as I remember them being or have they evolved into something minorly cool?”

“Nah they’re still preshy titty,” he slurs, brows pulling down in confusion over the syllables he’d mixed up before he disregards the mistake completely, causing you to bite back another snicker, “They made us play seven minutes in heaven like we were back in middle school. It w’s pathetic.”

“Whoa, dude, seven minutes in heaven is the best party game. Getting your mack on with someone in a closet? Hot. You manage to grab a cutie?”

You tip your cap back slightly with one finger, eyes alternating between looking at the road and looking across to your brother, making sure he wasn’t gonna start puking or something else equally as stupid. You catch the way his expression twists at your question, and when he opens his mouth to speak, the most adorable little hiccup escapes before the words.

“I didn’t wanna play, I don’t wanna be kissing any of those losers.”

“Dude you missed out, how are you supposed to get yourself in there if you turn down golden opportunities like that?”

“I don’t wanna be ‘in there’… I wanna be, uh, out h-here. If I wanted to be with any of those nerds then I already would be.”

He sounds foolishly confident, and when he shifts in his seat, you realise he hadn’t actually succeeded in putting on his seatbelt, causing the faintest of frowns to grace your lips. When your gaze jumps across again, you catch him looking at you with an almost scary level of concentration. It causes something tight to twist in your chest and you swallow before continuing. _Eyes back on the road, Bro._

“That’s awfully modest of you,” you tease, desperately clinging for any kind of light hearted tone that would ease the tightness, ignoring the way leather gloves curled tighter around the steering wheel, “Who d’you think you are? A fucking stud muffin? Got a way with the ladies that’ll have them falling at your feet?”

“See? This… this is where you’re wrong, Bro,” his words are still a little slurred, but something tells you that this wasn’t just drunken rambling, “You don’t think I’m capable of making someone…” His hands fly up, and you can see his brain scramble for the right words, “Want me. I _do_ have ways.”

You don’t dare look across to him anymore, blank expression directed carefully out the front windscreen. Making someone want him? Of course he had ways of doing that, but they weren’t the things he was aware of, and they weren’t the things you would ever admit to having noticed.

Your lack of response only seems to encourage him on, because the next thing you know, he was moving out the corner of your eye, twisting to face you more fully, leaning closer. His hand finds your thigh, slender fingers snaking their way upwards and causing your breathing to hesitate, your stomach to drop. His other hand had located the bottom of your shirt, pushing it upwards as he maps out your stomach and chest with his fingertips.

This was suddenly way more serious than you’d anticipated, your expression set in tense, hard lines with a clenched jaw and furrowed brow. And he was right by your ear, alcohol still on his breath as he breathes against your skin.

“I have ways of making even _you_ want me. Pull over.”

He squeezes against your thigh and you tense up even further, everything in you trying your hardest not to crash the car, or, worryingly, do what he asked you. But, no, _no, this was wrong._

“This isn’t funny, Dave.”

It’s warning, voice sharp and low as you tilt your head to finally look at him. He’s really close, cheeks slightly flushed from alcohol, not a hint of joke in his expression or the way he drags his teeth across his lower lip. It makes your breath catch again and it takes everything in you to tear your attention back to the road again.

“Bro… pull over. Come on, don’t… don’t act like ya don’t wan’ it too, come on… I see the way you look at me sometimes.”

You turn a corner, the action causing Dave to drunkenly lose his balance so that his forehead bumps against the side of your head painfully, his hand slipping slightly on your thigh. He’s surprisingly quick to regain himself again, the hand under your shirt sweeping up to find your collarbones.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sit back, now.”

The order doesn’t hold much authority though, words mumbled in embarrassment and panic as you realise that he must know. He’d caught you looking, he knew what you’d been thinking, he knew how fucking sick you really were, and yet here he was… encouraging it?

You swallow hard, hit the accelerator harder to move the two of you faster towards home.

“Don’t you wan’ it too? Bro… please, I want you.”

His hand moves one last time, and this time it comes to rest right over your crotch, his palm applying pressure which shoots sparks through your very veins in response. You finally reach down with one hand to grip hard at his wrist, pushing him roughly away and not missing the sharp exhale of rejection he lets slip against your ear.

You’ve managed to make it back to your apartment, parking messily in order to get out the car fast. As you tug his other hand free from under your shirt, you don’t dare look at his face before climbing out the car.

“Get the fuck out.”

If he looked hurt or upset, you didn’t want to see it. You didn’t want to think that it would be the right thing to do to accept his advances like this. Not after so long of holding back your own, keeping what you really felt to yourself so that he wouldn’t have to know.

You wanted him kissing high school teenagers at house parties, you wanted him going out with his friends every weekend, you wanted so much more for him than… well, you.

Locking up the car after you hear the opposite car door slam shut, you head quickly into the apartment block, calling for the elevator. He shuffles in after you, face fire engine red and his fingers curling and uncurling by his sides. As you wait for the elevator together, not a single word is spoken but you can both hear each other’s heavy breathing, the occasional hiccup on Dave’s behalf.

He’s still swaying, and as a ding rings out to signal the arrival of the elevator, you grab tight at his arm to pull him in after you, keeping him steady. He lets you pull him, limp like a rag doll and embarrassed frown directed towards his shoes. You can only imagine what might be going through his drink hazed mind right now.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

His head darts up at the sound of your voice, nose scrunching up before he lolls back down to face the ground again.

“Pretty sick, Bro.”

“Thought so.”

The elevator jolts as it reaches your floor and he loses his balance, hand hitting the metal wall to steady himself as he frowns. You give a heavy sigh, feeling the embarrassed panic you’d been experiencing drain from you as you step forward, hook his legs over your arms to lift him up.

When you carry him to your apartment, he clings tight to your shirt, pressing his face into your shoulder, and you’re not sure if it was from embarrassment over what he had done or because he was feeling ill. Regardless, you felt you had to move fast, holding the warm, heavy body close as you unlocked the door. He wasn’t the kid he used to be, and this was getting difficult, but you still refuse to put him down until he was in the bathroom.

He stumbles instantly to the toilet, throwing up the seat to retch into the bowl with shaking knees that bring him sitting on the floor with a groan. You watch him for a few seconds, curled over the toilet in his ridiculously tight skinny jeans, blonde hair sticking out at wild angles from where he’d pushed his shades up into them, bloodshot eyes exposed.

You can’t bring yourself to stay with him, so after delivering him a glass of water and a set of painkillers, you leave him alone to move to your own room.

The quiet of the dark had thoughts crashing in around you with an unpleasant ferocity, leaving you restless as you start to undress down to your boxers, slip between the cool bed sheets to stare at the ceiling. 

He was seventeen, he was full of hormones going crazy and he wasn’t old enough to be able to fully understand himself. He was confused, and horny and that was all there had been to it, you tell yourself. And there was the fact that he was drunk. Drunk, horny and teenager was the most powerful combination for overcoming logic. By morning, he will have forgotten about it, you’re sure. 

Burying your face in your hands, you hear the toilet flush, the quiet clicks of doors opening and closing for Dave’s room. You resist the urge to flip over and scream into your pillow, because with closed eyes come images of flushed cheeks from alcohol, the memory of fingertips fuelled with liquid confidence, on your skin, slipping up your thigh. A breathy voice by your ear.

When you finally fall asleep, it’s on the thought that you’ve never hated anyone more than you hate yourself for loving your little brother far too much.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ==> Be Dave Strider

When you wake, it’s with a serious case of hangover, sensitive eyes blinking painfully as you push yourself upwards on your bed.

Outside, the sun was just beginning to rise, the clock on your bedside table reading 5:45am which causes you to groan and drop your head in your hands. There was a glass of water by your bed, which you can’t remember putting there, and your floor is littered with abandoned clothes you can’t remember taking off.

_What had happened last night?_

There was the party, and then Bro had picked you up and-

Oh god.

Your eyes fly wide, head tipping up away from your hands so that the whole room sways in light headedness for a moment before settling again. You felt hollow, empty; memories of what you’d done last night, what you’d try to do with Bro, crashing over you, hitting you hard.

Panic, regret, fear, fear, _fear._

You scramble up from your bed quickly, running your fingers through your hair as you pace your room, muttering curses under your breath until you can barely understand what each of the words means anymore. How could you have fucked up so completely?

When you finally come to a stop, it’s only to repeatedly bang your forehead against the back of your door, feeling pain ring through your skull with every thud. You had to go and explain, you had to make things right as soon as possible so that he didn’t think you were fucked up.

It’s cool outside your room, legs shaking in your boxers as you stand outside his door, hand resting on the handle for what seems like forever. 

You feel sick again, but it’s more from nerves than alcohol this time round, your teeth tugging loose skin away from your bottom lip and your breaths coming out choked. How were you supposed to do this?

Building up the courage to open the door, you poke your head into his room, swallowing hard as you let your eyes adjust to the dark. He had his blinds pulled down, cutting out the early morning sun so that the only light in the room came from his computer sat in the corner of the room, still switched on. It threw a ghostly, white light across the room, casting dark shadows on the bed where you could see the slight rise and fall of the covers from a sleeping figure.

You contemplate coming back when he was awake for barely a second, and then you were tiptoeing your way into the room, gently closing the door behind you. You had to do this now whilst you still had the courage. You couldn’t let this rest only for it to come up over an awkward breakfast or in the middle of a strife when a sharp blade was being swung your way.

He doesn’t wake when you hesitate by the side of his bed, barely shifts when you carefully slide yourself under the sheets beside him.

It had been years since you’d been allowed to share a bed with Bro, not since you were a small kid scared of the thunderstorms, and he’d slept with you curled up against his chest. It makes you wonder at what point things had changed and become… this.

He looks just as expressionless in sleep as what he was awake most of the time, and you shift closer slowly to let dark-widened pupils dart across his features. The straight nose and sharp jawline merging into dark blonde sideburns, thin pink lips slightly parted to push out slow breaths. His hair was messy, falling unstyled across his forehead, meeting the closed eyes he always kept hidden from you. He was so fucking attractive, it had everything in you to stop yourself reaching out to touch him, run fingertips across his skin like you remember doing only hours before.

_Oh God._

“Hey Bro,” you begin in a hushed whisper, curling in on yourself under the sheets to speak to his sleeping figure rather than attempt to wake him, “I just… came to say how sorry I am. For fucking things up with you, I guess. And for not having the fucking balls to wake you up to tell you this, as well.”

You frown, feel your insides take a few flips so that you have to scrunch your eyes up closed, wrap your arms around your body as though it would bring you protection. Now that you were here, lying beside him in bed, with him left so vulnerable to your words, it seemed wrong to spin him the bullshit story you’d planned. It seemed wrong to lie.

“The easy thing to say to you was that I was drunk. And stupid. Stupidly drunk beyond my fucking mind and it was all some sort of joke to be saying the things I did and touching you like I did and stuff. Which, I guess, is sorta the truth. Partially,” You stop to let out a heavy sigh, and you allow yourself to shift closer to his heat under the sheets, eyes still closed, “But it’s not really like that, is it? You always told me not to lie and I don’t want to keep lying to you anymore. I fucking love you, Bro. More than as a brother, more than as a friend, just so much _more_.”

The words were becoming harder to say, getting caught in your throat and sounding less like a whisper with every syllable uttered.

“I meant what I said back in the car, I want you to want me, that’s all.”

When you first open your eyes, it’s blurry and you hope to god you haven’t started crying, although the likelihood at this point was actually pretty high. Your gaze hits his bare chest from where you’d curled up close to him, and when you look up, red eyes meet wide open amber and you quickly jerk backwards. 

How long had he been awake? How much had he heard?

He didn’t say anything, barely even blinked or let a breath slip free that was too loud to disturb the silence settling between you. You catch the slight twitch in his expression, the way the cogs were turning behind the look in his eye, trying to figure something out. And you suck in a breath, ready to apologise and explain further.

But you can’t, his hand slipping around the back of your neck bringing a halt to your words. Just the touch of those coarse fingertips meeting your skin sends your brain into overload, thoughts scattered to nothing so that you barely even register the way he leans in, muttering a quiet curse in a low tone before he meets his lips with your own.

And it’s suddenly obviously clear just how much he actually did want you.

He kisses you like he’s waited far too long, as close to desperate as you had ever seen your older brother. And it was everything that you needed, relief and excitement filling you to the brim, spurring you on so that you tip forward into the kiss, part your lips under the drag of his teeth. 

He inhales sharp through his nose, his other hand searching you out under the sheets until it’s sliding against the skin above your boxers, thumb pressing into hipbone. He tugs you closer until you find yourself pressed right up against him, skin touching skin with a closeness that has everything about you heating up a few degrees.

There was far too much focus on, attention flitting between how tense the muscles on his back feel beneath your fingers, the way his thumb rubs comforting circles on the back of your neck. But most of all, the way it feels to kiss him has you hooked and helpless. Because he’s persistent with his lips, sucking and biting, hot and wonderful all at once when his tongue slips past your lips to curl around your own.

Your breathing had become heavy, hands finding his hair to cling and tug against the dirty blonde as your legs work to tangle against his, increase the close proximity. It works like a charm because your leg is skinny enough to slip right between his own, your hips pushing forward to create desperate clumsy contact through your boxers. 

He gives a quiet grunt in response, lips pulling back so that you try and follow him to pick the kiss back up again, despite how breathless you both seemed. His mouth was already working at your jaw though, kissing his way across your throat so that you whimper out a quiet moan in response, roll your hips hard against him to make him curse in return.

“Is this what you wanted?”

His voice is low, quiet against the skin of your neck, and in an instant, his hand had slipped down to grip hard against your ass, holding you in place so that he could cant his hips up against you hard. You both make a simultaneous noise of pleasure, although your own sounds embarrassingly high pitched compared to the rumble of a groan Bro had let slip.

“Yes… fuck, yes.”

Your hips had begun a stuttered rhythm of grinding into him, close enough to feel him grow hard in response. And he grips harder against you, shifts his other hand into your hair to push it away from your forehead so that you can’t imagine ever feeling this good again unless it was Bro’s hands touching you like this.

It was growing hot beneath the sheets, the slow roll of his own hips moving to try and steady your inexperienced, lust filled thrusts, together creating a friction that had you both breathing heavy, littering kisses on as much skin as you both could reach.

When you feel it’s been too long since you heard Bro make a moan, you take another step further and catch him in a kiss. It distracts him for the second that you need to slide your hand across his stomach, following the trail of fine hair disappearing into his boxers. With your fingers wrapping around his length, you feel his hips hesitate, his breath catch in the kiss so that you grin in victory.

You make quick work of pulling him free of his boxers, tracing his tip with the pad of your thumb slowly so that he mutters your name against your lips. And then you begin to move your hand, sliding fingers with a quickening pace, squeezing lightly at his base. Your lack of experience is obvious, but you make up for it in enthusiasm, never once letting your lips leave his skin until he was clinging tight against you, moaning low into your hair.

You can tell when he’s ready to cum because he starts to jerk his hips up into your palm, huffing out short breaths against your forehead. You tip your face beneath his jaw, latch your mouth onto the sensitive skin of his throat to suck it up hard between your teeth. He smells faintly like aftershave, tastes distinctive on your tongue and sounds fucking perfect when he cums thrusting into your hand.

Sticky heat hits the top of your own boxers, smears across your fingers as you release his skin from your mouth. The mark blooming slowly into a darker red moves slightly as he swallows hard, and his eyes are half lidded but bright when you meet them in the half darkness.

You’d just made your older brother cum. And you’d never been more proud of yourself.

“You need to watch where you mark me, Dave… don’t want any difficult questions to be asked my way,” he says, still a little breathless, and your hips twitch restlessly on the bed, “You have to keep them places people can’t see, places only we know.”

And at that, he moves to grab hard at your shoulders, shoving you onto your back with enough force to have you releasing a small huff. He moves to tuck himself back into his boxers, and it seems that he’s ready to make an example of you, an almost devilish grin pulling at his lips as he hovers over you. When he dips down, his lips instead meet with your collarbone, teeth baring to nip a trail of small red marks across your chest, tongue running across the assaulted skin.

You arch your back slightly with every new bite, fingers curling over his shoulders as his own hands run flat palms up across your legs, pushing them open so that he could press against the creamy skin of your inner thighs. 

“Bro, hm, fucking-“

You cut off in a gasp when his fingers curl around your erection through your boxers, his face tipping up in your direction. His eyes search your expression, eyebrows raising slightly.

“Is this okay? You know that I can stop if you just tell me to, Dave, I-“

“Don’t stop. Please.”

You sound like a desperate little bitch, but you’re in no position to try and redeem yourself. Not when he was giving a silent nod, shifting his fingers to hook under the waistband of your boxers. His kisses run lower across your stomach, tongue dipping against your navel so that you suck in reflexively and watch him smirk in response.

There’s no time to feel self-conscious when he tugs your boxers down to your knees, bedsheets discarded around your ankles and his hands running along your thigh, across your chest. He bends to take you in his mouth quickly, catching you off guard so that you tip yourself up away from the bed into the wet heat surrounding you. He makes a small noise in retaliation, pushing hard against your hips to keep you pinned to the bed.

You’re light headed, with breaths too short and fast, and skin too heated. He’s relentless in the way he sucks and licks at you, as though there wasn’t a second to lose, as though he’d been wanting to taste you for too long. He has you moaning his name, head tipping back against the bed and fingers gripping hard into his hair so that you can feel the quick way he bobs up and down around you.

He releases you with a hard suck, runs his tongue tense and broad along your length and you groan at the withdrawal. Tipping your head back up to look down at him, he catches your eye, licks slowly against his lips in a tease. This was way better than all those times you’d imagined it in your head, a thousand times more satisfying than every wet dream he’d featured in, or every time his image had finished you off by your own hand.

You’d never been more in love with him.

When his lips lower again, they meet with your inner thigh, sucking hard against smooth, pale skin, so that you bite hard against your lip, savouring the slight sting of teeth combined with the smooth sweep of his tongue. It earns him another moan, and his fingers dig deeper into your skin in return.

You won’t last much longer, not when you’re this unbelievably turned on and he was so god damn good at this. So when he wraps his lips back around your tip, you give a quiet whine in warning, fingers tugging at his hair and chest rising and falling in desperate attempts to catch your breath. He hums around you, slides you in deeper, flicks his tongue slowly. And then he sucks.

His cheeks hollow slightly, revealing sharp cheekbones as he pulls upwards before slipping back down again. And you’re unravelling, stuttering out a cry of a moan and transferring your grip to the bedsheets instead of his hair so that you could dig your nails hard into the mattress. You spill into his mouth, hear him inhale sharp through his nose before he was swallowing around you, licking you up.

It takes a few heated moments before you can feel yourself start to come down from your high, your fingers loosening and your body untensing with a sigh. Things feel hazy, but in a wonderful kind of way, and you barely notice Bro moving until the mattress was sinking beside you and his arms were slipping around your middle. 

You realize he’s pulled your boxers back up again, notice the care he takes when pulling you close which seemed so different to any other kind of contact you’d had with him. Between high fives and strifes, affectionate touches like this were unfamiliar but more than welcome, and you let him pull you close. Your forehead bumps up against his, half lidded eyes slipping closed in embarrassment of the massive grin that was plastered on your lips.

“You should teach me how to do what you just did.”

“Don’t tempt me, Dave.”

You feel the soft pressure of his lips against your smile before you press back, taste something that hadn’t been there before, and you realize it must be _you._

When you think back over everything that had happened that night, there was still regret over how you’d approached this, embarrassment over how foolish you’d acted back in the car. But yet, here you were, feeling his breathing grow slower against your own lips and his body mould comfortably against your smaller one on the bed. And, though you might not feel okay with how this had started for a long time, it barely mattered when you muttered that you loved him and he replied,

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> [whoa friend you made some real good art i think i cried a little](http://ssejery.tumblr.com/post/47188576020/you-should-all-read-megans-stridercest-fic-its-p)


End file.
